


GHOST

by hieroglyphics



Category: True Detective
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Dreams, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Gangsters, Hallucinations, M/M, Mental Instability, Rough Sex, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 00:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21127943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieroglyphics/pseuds/hieroglyphics
Summary: Night was the time for the ghosts to revenge. Crash knew it too well.





	GHOST

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AJU](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJU/gifts).

> Thank you so much for the discussion in this prompt, which inspired me a lot in this story! I’m so happy to help to work through the fanbook project - it’s such a pleasant experience of creation for me: ) Always feel so lucky to have your incredible talent and great effort in this little fandom! <333
> 
> This is my first try of writing in English, so there could be mistakes in it due to my limited English. And WARNIN for the content of smutty sex of Ginger/Crash including dirty talks, drug use and choking, sorry, I just couldn’t control my hands.
> 
> The story is in the same universe of my fic "混乱之子( sons of anarchy)" and the plot is in relate of it. In that fic, Crash had got in touch with another biker gang secretly and provoked a gunfight between the two gangs, which smashed both the two groups badly, some gangsters were killed in it. He’d lured Ginger with profits and sex and tied him in his scheme. That was the secret between them two. After the gunfight Crash and Ginger got in charge of the Iron Crusade and their relationship became more and more unstable and crazy. Crash's mental state got worse, he felt he was losing himself and blurred the boundary of reality and hallucination.

Night was the best time for the ghosts of victims to revenge.

You know it too well.

You immersed yourself in the smoke and hubbub of the club, letting it cover you like a camouflage, but your senses were still sharp for every sounds and movements around. Some bikers huddle around the pool table, others were drinking and chatting around the bar. You had to make your way through all the wild laugh and clamor when you caught some guys squinting when you passed. 

“Where’s Ginger?” a man asked.

"Dude's gotta prepare for his 'big deal',” another guy smirked, "with his bitch, you know." He raised his bottle behind you. 

This was just another usual day of the outlaws, another blank day with the fever of drugs and turbulence. Another day in this fucking paradise. 

But as the biker said, you were gotta go for a big deal in Houston tomorrow. You know it would be dangerous. But danger was what you sought for. You were longing for a way out. An ultimate solution. 

You were heading to a shabby trailer beside the river, which used to be yellow and green but now the colors were hard to discern. You knew Ginger was waiting for you in his den. He called this a pep rally, or a special date, a routine of you two before a deadly mission. The place was dim as a cave, only illuminated by a small bulb and the moonlight. You appreciated that, because everything was glaring like neon signs in your eyes.

The music was noisy, as usual. Ginger liked to play them to cover the noises you made. “To warm you up, ”he always said. Weird bastard. You knew he was waiting for you patiently, like a shark under the water.

You were so familiar with this place. You’d spend so many hours here, for fuck’s sake. You remembered everything. The murmurs of river and chirps of insects, the sultry air, sheets soaked with sweat, the smell of drugs and sex. You would still dream of it after many years. Faceless body, fingers, skin; breaths and moan, touches and shiver. A sensual sea with endless turmoil and mismatched senses.

You knew what Ginger wanted, and what you wanted. You knew he was ambushing you in the door and when you stepped in, he would jump at you. 

Ginger caught you, throwing you in the bed. Hadn’t touched you for so many days, he just couldn’t wait anymore. Neither of you spoke a word. His hands were blindly busy on you until all your clothes were gone except a shirt. This was one of his favorite parts in this, enjoying the process of opening his present. 

You left a fake moan, waiting for him to turn you around and press your face in the pillow, and sated himself on your ass. You knew the guy too well. He always preferred to bang you from behind because he couldn’t stand to be stared at by you like an idiot. 

But tonight was different.

Ginger, the horny bastard, was in a weird sentimental mood. He pushed your shirt up and began to tease your nipples with his teeth and tongue. He knew you loved it, loved the feeling of his beard scratching your sensitive skin. His wet tongue was groping on you, like the forked tongue of snake, while his fingers sliding down between your thighs. When the fingers found the right place, you couldn’t pretend any longer. He always knew how to defeat you by his weird skills, making you tremble and moan “like a virgin in her wedding night” (as Ginger said). Soon he finished the short foreplay and got to his business. He let you straddle on him, his hot length thrashing inside you in a frenetic possessiveness. It’s hurting, chilling, with a strange energy. You couldn’t help shuddering and groaning, but a part of you loved to be violated by the fucking thing. There was a strange content in this atonement, to free your beast inside, break the bonds and burn everything into ashes. You swayed your hips smoothly and rubbed yourself on his dick, like riding a wild horse, inciting and guiding the man under you until he got crazy. Ginger’s fingers were clenching your hips so hard that nails sank in the meat. You were pinned on his dick like a dying butterfly. It always hurt at the beginning but you couldn’t feel it now. The heat overwhelmed both of you to the fire point. You were indulged in the pain of being humiliated, invaded, loosing yourself in this debauched game, enjoying taking while giving, controlling while surrendering.

The first round was over. You slumped against the bed board, fingers playing with Ginger’s beard absently. Ginger lit a cigarette and humming with the music in a lisping tone. If you were lucky, the guy would fall asleep in a few minutes, and you could manage to send a message out. But things didn’t go as you expected. Ginger climbed out of the bed and returned with a bottle of rum. He seemed tense and anxious tonight. He took a swig, fingers fiddling the bottle restlessly. 

"I have a fucking bad feeling all the day, Crash. Miles still keeps an eye on us, if he figures out what we did and anything goes wrong tomorrow, we're fucked up." He passed the rum to you.

You snorted. "What're you scaring? Miles knocked off your balls? The old fuck will live the rest of his life on the wheelchair, and all the others inside are dead and rotten now. Tomorrow we're gotta hit there, get the work done and take the money, that's all. You're weird these days, shithead."

Ginger squinted at you with a strange expression.

“Why staring at me like that?”

“You’re going somewhere?” Ginger asked suddenly.

“What?” Your heart beat faster.

“You never told me anything useful about the business, Crash. But I know it. I can see from your face there’s something running in your pretty head, slick. You’re tired of this shithole, you wanna set me up and flee, don't you? That’s fine. But you know what? I’ll never let you kick me out.”

“You blew off your brain? Asshole. If you’re worrying about your share, we’ve had a deal of it. We’re in the same boat, remember?”

“I think you forget it, Crash.”Ginger smirked. “Let me remind you.”

He reached for his clothes and hooked out a small bottle.

"I've prepared a special treat for the night, just for you, baby. You'll love it. Ready? " 

He crammed himself between your legs with a grin, wetting his fingers with the lube in the bottle and slipped them into the familiar place. He began to move his fingers to work you open. It was quite easy after the previous sex. Ginger caught your chin with the other hand and pulled you in for a rough kiss, biting your lips like a carnivore.

” Tomorrow we can take all the money and fly to Mexico, leaving all the motherfuckers behind, there’re piles of gold waiting for us. What do you think?” he breathed out against your lips, with a smell of alcohol. 

You wanted to sneer, but your mouth was occupied, all you could speak was a gruff groan. 

"See? Your little pussy can’t wait, never have enough of my dick, you know that."Ginger crooked his fingers inside you, groping deeper.

"What the fuck is this-” hit by a sudden rush of hit, you were squeezed out a shivering moan.

"Lube with special recipe, a chilling shot, baby, now let’s see what you can do with it."Ginger smirked and kept on moving his fingers. In a short moment the drugged lube worked and you couldn't wait anymore, you began to rock your hips, panting hard. But Ginger only teased you with his fingers and rubbed his hard dick against your balls and hole, enjoying your struggle until you cried out desperately:" Fuck me, your motherfucker, just pump your fucking big cock in and filling me, now."

Ginger grinned but didn’t wait to be asked twice, he couldn't hold on any longer. He heaved your legs up and directly bumped in. You were choking by the rough invasion, but so eager for it. Drugs had loosened you enough to take all of Ginger’s length in to the hilt. Ginger was immediately overwhelmed by the burning thrill, he couldn't feel anything else but the urge to end himself deep in your body. You were whimpering desperately, jerking your ass to meet the other man’s thrusts and let him going deeper.

The two of you wrestled together, fucked wildly like beasts. Ginger pressed you down with his weight while you struggling under him like an entrapped fish, fingers clutching into Ginger’s back. You clashed at each other’s body without any pace, just seeking for the fierce desire. Ginger possessed you at last, devouring and plundering like a fucking conqueror. He left some marks on you, by his teeth and fingers, but that was not enough. He needed something to link himself with you, the urge was so desperately. ( you still remember once he murmured in your ear “you’re so beautiful baby, if you were a woman, I’ll keep fucking until you bear my baby.” )

Ginger was usually talkative when he was high, always having a weird fondness of pouring dirty words in your ears in every fucking. But now he seemed to lose the shit. All he could do was chanting “You’re mine, remember? You’re mine.”

What a dumbass.

What a fucking idiot, Ginger, Crash was only a hallucination, a ghost, totally hollow inside. He had neither past nor future, only existed now, in the everlasting limbo he’d been trapped in.

That was so funny. The man adored Crash, even been used and cheated all the time. How pathetic. He had no choice but to attach himself to the hallucination. 

And so did you.

You laughed hysterically. Ginger had to cover your face with both of his hands, so hard that pressing your head into the mattress. 

“Don’t laugh at me, you bitch.” He growls through the teeth, still rocking violently. His fingers wrapped around your neck.

The orgasm washed you so fiercely that you even didn’t realize you’d come. Your muscles still so intense around Ginger and the man just couldn’t stop. He kept the piston movement and his hand was on your throat, squeezing, shaking at the feeling of you gripping him tightly with convulsion. You could feel his hard cock throbbing inside you.

Ginger’s face was with a strange devout desperation, as if seeing the god. His face was blurred in your eyes and his voices fading away. You arched your body backward under the other man, feeling his fingers clenching your dick, so hard that making you cry. Time split. World varnished. And you were gone. You’d been dismantled into pieces, dragged down by a black swirl, down and down and would never stop. 

You ejaculated again hardly and Ginger barked out a surprised laugh, but you couldn’t reply. The dark came to possess you, before blacked out, you thought vaguely, oh, you’re gotta end in a junkie’s bed, it’s perfect for you, Crash. 

The stupor was short and soon you were brought back by a panic yell.

”Hey! Hey! What’s wrong with you, Crash, you dead?” 

You opened your eyes. A faceless phantom was there, staring at you, cold, pale, with a dead gaze. You had seen it so many times before, it followed you everywhere. And now, it possessed you. 

You instinctively groped for your gun under the pillow. Your fingers were shaking, but managed to hold the stock. You pulled the trigger. 

A sharp smash of glass. There was only Ginger in front of you, terrified, gaping at you with a bleeding ear. The bullet just scraped his ear and shattered the window. 

Ginger left out a panic growl, jerking up to snatch your gun, but you punched him in the face and knocked him down. The shadow vanished, but you still felt its existence, haunting around, waiting for you and trying to seize you. You broke out from the trailer blindly and ran into the dark, without looking back. 

There was only one thing in your mind, run, escape from it, even to the hell.

You were tripped by a jutting root, your bare skin feeling the tingle of the coldness of damp air. You realized you were out in the woods, trees surrounded you and their branches scratched your skin, as cold fingers trying to catch you and trap you in the maze forever. But they were all in a dead silence, everything was static as in a tomb. You still felt the shadow following you like a predator in Alaska’s forest. You could hear its footsteps and hisses everywhere without rest. All the strength was drained from your limbs, you collapsed under a tree.

The phantom loomed from the darkness and exposed itself in the moonlight. It got close. You were petrified by pure terror, couldn’t move even a finger. It kept drawing near, until you were face to face. 

You forced yourself to look up. When you fixed your eyes on it, the dim figure got clear - the pale face was your own face, and the haggard figure was your own figure. The lonely boy from Alaska. The rookie cop in Texas. The happy husband and father. The ghost of yourself.

GET AWAY FROM ME. You shouted at the shadow. But it kept still. There was nothing in its dead eyes, an entirely void.

You’d tried so hard to escape from it, exiled yourself so far into the wildness that finally you became the same as what you hated most. But you failed. You would never shake it off. It was the one with you.

You must terminate its existence. And there was only one way to solve it.

You grasped your gun.

When you woke up again, the night had faded into daylight. You were alone under a dead tree, totally naked with a gun in your hand. Your skin was bruised with biting marks, scratched by branches, your mouth was dry as full of sand and your body soured everywhere. A big crow was squinting at you on a branch. It’s studying if I’m a corpse, you thought. You managed to get on your foot and began to walk. 

You took a cold bath in the river and finally found the way back. The door of the trailer was still opened, the whole place was in a terrible mess. Ginger was rummage in the pile of dump, while pressing an iced bottle on his blacked eye. He sprang up at the sight of you.

”Hey, where were you?” he yelled at you but there was fear in his voice. “Look at what you’d done to me, you psycho! Miles called and I told him you’d been eaten by alligators.”

“Shut the fuck up, give me my clothes. No time to play around.” You answered simply, took on the clothes and headed to the door. 

Ginger spit a furious growl, caught your collar to drag you close. “I never know what’s wrong with you, but remember, if you dare to betray me, I’ll cut your balls off and eat them with rum.” 

“Save the rum for yourself, dumbass.” You wrenched Ginger’s wrists behind until he cried out, then shoved him away. “If you still care about your neck today, just stop talking shits like that and do what I tell you, like the last time. Now move.”

……

Your clock stopped in that day and restarted some time after.

You moved into an empty apartment in Louisiana. It was nothing like the previous place you used to stay, but as bare as yourself. You had left everything behind, including that thing. The phantom had been exorcised, left in Texas, with some of your flesh and blood. But you still had fear when looking into the mirror. Maybe it was hiding there, waiting to catch you unaware when you moved your eyes. 

You felt sick when hearing the name of Iron Crusaders again on the phone. A physical disgust. You scared, really scared, not of any of them, but of yourself. You were once one of the scum. And it was still there, lurking and waiting patiently. 

But when you stepped into the heavy gate, Ginger’s gaze was fixed on you like melting lead, your brain blasted like firecracker. All the buried body memory rushed out. Desire screamed under your skin for freedom. Shameful, but real. For the first time from the gloomy months in the North Shore, you felt your ridiculous existence again. 

………..

You are lost. 

Maybe it’s in a dream. You pull a beard biker out of the truck and throw him in a dry ditch. Ginger, bundled by ropes and tapes, is growling and cursing at you.

“Fuck you! You son of bitch, I’ll break your neck with my bare hands, fucking traitor - You thought you’re something, eh? No. You’re nothing, nothing but a junkie like me, bitch, you’ll never get out, never -”

A pale phantom stands there behind the biker, with a crooked smile on its vague face. There’s a bloody hole on Ginger’s head. 

You snap your eyes open and find Marty frowning at you from the driving seat. “Are you okay? You seems seeing a ghost.”

Ghost. Did I shoot Ginger in his fucking head? You ask yourself. Ginger knows too much, he had seen the real you. No, you just left Ginger there yelling and cursing. But you’re not sure. Maybe there is a dead body left there in the ditch, but it’s something else. You have killed it, the faceless shadow, and covered all the shits under a curtain in your mind, with the rest memories of Crash. All is over. 

Or it’s just your wish. You wish to kill part of your true self and bury it in the darkness. But you know that’s impossible. Nothing will really be solved after all.

“Do you believe in ghost?” you light a cigarette.

END 


End file.
